


The Patience of the Lion and the Trust of the Scarred Lamb

by cuphugaddict



Series: The Wrath of the Lamb [3]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: (at the beginning), Backstory, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Light Angst, M/M, Not Beta Read, Revelations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2019-03-08 02:59:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13449108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuphugaddict/pseuds/cuphugaddict
Summary: About eight months after his initial meeting with Crispin Du Maurier, Frederick Chilton finds himself at the opening of an exclusive exhibition in the Metropolitan Museum of Art. He still cannot quite believe how he got there ...





	The Patience of the Lion and the Trust of the Scarred Lamb

**Author's Note:**

> For all of you awesome people who stick with my little series:  
> I kind of feel like Frederick about art ... so please be gentle with my attempt of giving you background to an high-profile art exhibition. (I want to apologize in advance.)
> 
> Otherwise, I hope you enjoy!

 

 

Frederick Chilton could not believe that he stood where he currently did. He didn’t know a single thing about art. Paintings, to be precise. Sure, he remembered the odd thing that one picked up here and there but not in an amount that justified his presence in the highly exclusive opening of an exhibition in the Metropolitan Museum of Art he had gotten an invitation to. He didn’t even know if there was a theme to the showing or if it focused on an artist. If his damn plane hadn’t been late, he might have gotten to conducting a little bit of research. But nowadays, he could read properly on airplanes anymore as he got sick immediately. Maybe it was the heightened concentration due to only one functioning eye.

God, he was doomed.

Taking another sip of the champagne that had been offered to him as soon as he had shed his coat he scanned the room he found that he did not see one single familiar face. Back in the day when he still had a (relatively) unharmed face and the ability to speak articulately, he would have tried and mingle. Building up networks among the New York elite never hurt; and there was doubtlessly only the elite present. About one hundred – maybe one hundred and fifty – people were currently lounging in the foyer of the museum, waiting for the opening of the exhibition. Nowadays, however, he couldn’t be sure that people even understood what he was trying to say, so there went that option.

Just as Frederick was about to go and hide in one of the bathrooms for the time being, an elderly woman walked over to him, apparently, taking pity. The former psychiatrist was surprised that she didn’t collapse under the weight of her jewelry. She surely wasn’t in her prime years anymore. Still, he tried his best not to panic and slip back into his former, more confident self as best as possible. “From back there you won’t have a good view on the paintings, dear. You really should come a few steps forward … none of us is going to bite.” Frederick winced. If that woman only knew.

“Uh, thank you. Yes … I will. It’s just slightly overwhelming”, Frederick stammered. There went his plan with slipping back into his carefully constructed persona.

The woman only chuckled, “Yes well, it can be a bit intimidating; the venue, the people. I get it. Still, you got an invitation and there’s surely a reason for that.” She smiled, lipstick-colored lips parting over two perfect rows of teeth. So she wanted to know what the hell he was doing here; him, who no one knew. Okay, he could deal with this. He aimed at a smile as well, “Yes, Cris invited me. Sorry, Crispin Du Maurier, the curator.”

The woman paled immediately, “Ah yes … of course. Of course, Du Maurier. Well, he has such a splendid eye, as you surely will see in just about a moment. The opening is due any minute now …”

Frederick was sure that Crispin had a splendid and very talented eye – yet that was something he could not judge accordingly. The only thing he knew for certain was that his eyes were splendidly blue but he doubted that this would do as a suitable answer.

It still was all a bit of a miracle to him, considering his situation.

After their initial meeting at the bar in Baltimore, it had taken Frederick three weeks, five cancelled dinner dates and about thirteen panic attacks until he had been ready to meet up with the beautiful stranger who apparently thought him to be interesting enough to muster up a huge amount of patience and give him the time to get his act together. _Or he is only that patient because it’s a trap_ , the nagging voice in the back of his mind continued to whisper. And that usually was the opening for another panic attack.   
Once Frederick had sat foot in the hole in the wall French restaurant both had agreed to meet at, he somehow knew that it had been the right decision not to cancel on the poor man again (as he had contemplated about an hour ago). Crispin had been sitting at a table, smile bright as the first night they met and an honest to God bouquet of red roses sitting to his right. And there Frederick had been, musing over the intentions of the other man. The roses made that quite clear, he presumed. Lunch had gone as well as a first date could; after a huge amount of apologies from Frederick that had lasted until their starters had been consumed and at least double as many assurances from Crispin that it was quite alright, they had talked about work – mostly Crispin, who had turned out to be a restaurateur as well as an art curator – their families, again mostly Crispin who apparently had very eccentric parents who deemed their children worthy enough to be named Alastair, Bedilia, Crispin and Delphine as well as what they enjoyed doing in their free time. Not surprisingly, Crispin liked to travel, sail and go horseback riding and –very surprisingly – bake and cook. At Frederick’s sudden intake of breath Crispin blushed and assured him that he had been a vegetarian for most of his life. Exhaling in relief again, Frederick somehow was not able to picture that horseback-riding, sailing Adonis of a man in the kitchen. The same assured him that one day, he would very much like to correct that picture in the psychiatrists head, but that would doubtlessly need more time.

And more time they had taken indeed:  
Over the next eight months Crispin had pursued one courtship of Frederick Chilton that would be worthy of its own romance novel. He had taken Frederick out to more lunch dates, they had had pick nicks at the park, they had gone to the movies and the opera countless times, there had been late-night and long lasting phone calls as well as the weekly flower bouquet with a note attached that had been sent to Frederick’s new apartment and either a cake or exquisite chocolate pralinées delivered to him – made by Crispin himself. To say that Frederick’s mind had been blown would be an understatement. During these numerous dates, both men had naturally grown to know each other better – even though Frederick had been very hesitant at first. But once he had felt comfortable enough to talk about his book and, by extension, Hannibal about five months had gone by. And again, Crispin had managed to shaken his foundations as he finally opened up about the scar on the bridge of his nose. Asked by Frederick at least twenty times about the scar, the only thing that seemed slightly out of place in the otherwise even and handsome face of the art curator, Crispin had always said that it had been too early for that particular tale. But then, after they had passed the five month mark, he had told Frederick that one night, Hannibal had had enough of Crispin not reacting to his quite extensive amount of advances and he had tried to get into the younger man’s head. Literally. With a drilling machine. Frederick had spat his mouthful of chocolate cake out and once his coughing had subsided, he tenderly touched the scar, shaking his head at how one could do such a horrendous thing to a beautiful human being. Crispin had hesitantly started to travel his finger gently over Frederick’s scars around the area of his lips and after a quiet “Do you allow me to kiss you Frederick?” the blonde’s lips had lain onto his for the first time. And if Frederick had thought that his deepest foundations had been shaken by Crispin’s explanation of his scar, they were shattered by the intensity of their first kiss. It had been so beautiful that Frederick had wanted to laugh and cry at the same time – and if all of this turned out to be a trap indeed, Frederick would die happily. The former psychiatrist had not felt this alive in years. If Crispin would have asked if they could have sex together that night, Frederick would have agreed in a heartbeat. But no, the courtship with the occasional and highly intense touch and the by then regular kisses had continued.

Until now, until Frederick found himself standing in the foyer of the Metropolitan Museum of Art and waiting for the damn opening speech so he could talk to his Crispin and not stand here under the watchful gaze of that jewelry-clad woman.

For once, it seemed that the heavens had heard his prayers and a man in a tweet suit started to greet them at a microphone, surely situated only for that particular occasion, in the middle of the foyer. He explained the purpose of the exhibition – thank God – which was the apparently highly complicated process of borrowing numerous pieces from one Francois Boucher from Europe solely for the purpose of showing two pieces that had been found during the last years in America. After a few words of thanks to a few sponsors, he announced the man with enough stamina to survive the negotiation processes with Europe: Crispin Du Maurier. Frederick inhaled sharply as the blonde stepped up to the microphone under thundering applause, looking as handsome as ever, especially in the fine suit he had chosen to wear for the occasion. Crispin smiled gently and assured that the work that had led up to this moment had been more of a pleasure than a struggle. Smile widening, he announced the exhibition open and that he hoped that everybody would be enjoying the showing as much as he did. After the predictable second round of applause, Crispin stepped from the microphone and moved right into the crowd, stopping every few feet to greet someone and to exchange a few friendly words.

As Crispin’s eyes met Frederick’s, there was still quite a distance between the two of them, but the face of the curator lit up instantly, which made Frederick feel as if they were standing right next to each other already. The former psychiatrist took an instinctive step back, still – after months of dating – struck by the enormous presence that the other man possessed. Somewhere at the back of his mind, Frederick realized that it was exactly how he had previously wanted other people to see him. But then, that had been before … everything.

Frederick saw Crispin clasp one of the men he by then stood with on the shoulder in a friendly manner and then made his way over to Frederick, who felt a bit like a deer in the headlights. Sure, he knew where he and Crispin stood at that very moment, he however did not know how open the same wanted to be about their relationship. Thankfully, Crispin took the initiative, took his hand and engulfed him in a tight hug: “Frederick, I’m so happy you came!” He pulled back and smiled at him, “It really means a lot to me.” Frederick gulped, engulfed in Crispin’s expensive aftershave that he even could make out despite the damage that had been done to his nostrils. “I was afraid that I would be late – there was a plane delay …” Crispin rolled his eyes, “I know. I checked … This makes you being here even more meaningful.” Crispin squeezed his hand and only then looked over at the woman who still hadn’t moved from Frederick’s side. “Hello Geneviève, wonderful to see you.” She only toasted with her flute full of champagne to him and finally moved towards the actual exhibition.

Frederick exhaled, “Thank God. I felt as if she was keeping an eye on me because she feared I might run off with one of the paintings …”

Crispin chuckled, “That actually does seem like her. Geneviève van der Brink, her daughter is married to one of the Guggenheims. So technically, she is the spy …”

Frederick laughed and squeezed his boyfriend’s hand back, which was only met with a wider smile, “Listen, I have got to make the odd round around the exhibit, but I hope that we can be out of here in an hour or two …”

Frederick nodded, “Please, take your time. You have certainly earned it …” the author motioned towards the exhibition room, “… regarding the strenuous efforts with Europe …”

Crispin chuckled again, pulling slightly on Frederick’s arm so that both men moved towards the paintings, “Well, Stephen likes to overemphasize things. Although I have to say the agreement with Schloss Charlottenburg in Berlin as quite the process …”

The older man frowned at the pronunciation, “You speak German?”

Crispin smirked, “Ein bisschen.”

Frederick’s “What?” was met with an „a bit.“

“Ah”, was all the former psychiatrist could say as Crispin chose to act as his own guide through the paintings on display, explaining crucial details as well as trivia about the same or their process of restauration as well as their exhibition. Frederick was yet again amazed how much knowledge Crispin stored in his head – and asked as well as praised by other people about it, he still managed to let Frederick, whose presence appeared to be quite the mystery to everybody around them, shine a in a rather bright light. He had only written a book, for crying out loud, and had not restored paintings from whatever period of art history like Crispin had. Still, the New York elite seemed fascinated if not by his accomplishments on the literary market by his mere presence and relationship to Crispin. Funnily enough, Frederick realized that this had been exactly what he had been previously looking for in his life – but right now, the only thing he really wanted was to spend some time alone with Crispin, They hadn’t seen each other in quite some time after all …

About three hours later, both Frederick and Crispin finally stepped into Crispin’s hotel room. Crispin took both of their coats and hung them up by the door, whilst Frederick flicked on the lights and made his way over to the comfortable sofa that stood in the middle of the room. “Cozy, is it?” said Crispin and let himself plop down unceremoniously next to him. “Ahhh, I thought the exhibition would never end …”

Frederick looked over at him with a raised eyebrow, “Don’t tell me that you didn’t enjoy it at least a little bit …”

Crispin bit his lip while he extended his arm over Frederick’s shoulder, “I enjoy working on the paintings more than presenting them, that is for sure. … But you were quite the topic of conversation as well, Doctor Chilton …”

Now it was Frederick’s turn to roll his eyes, “Only because nobody knew who I was … and because I apparently managed to charm the only person everybody was seeking the attention of this evening …”

Crispin smiled, “I don’t know about that last part but the one about charming me is certainly true …”

Both men met in a loving kiss, into which Crispin sighed heavily, “God, I wanted to do that all night …”

Frederick pecked the other man’s lips quickly, “Why didn’t you?”

“I wasn’t sure if you would be comfortable with me doing so …” Crispin said while he traveled his fingers down those places of Frederick’s neck the younger curator knew he still had proper feeling in.

Frederick groaned. Somehow, his inability to feel properly in certain places just heightened the reaction to touch in those he still could. “I would have been …” he whispered and Crispin smiled, “I’ll remember that for the next night out …”

Frederick and Crispin met in another kiss, than another and another one … Frederick thought, the time for the next step had finally come. So he let his hand travel down Crispin’s torso – which he longed to see naked, by the way – and started to tug at the man’s expensive belt. Crispin stopped immediately. “Frederick, we don’t have to do this …”

Frederick smiled at the worried look in Crispin’s blue eyes, “I know. I know as you have made abundantly clear that you did not want to rush me … but the thing is, I want this Crispin. I want it so much …” Frederick looked down on where their bodies were not quite pressed together on the sofa, “… so much that I am even willing to show you every single scar and broken piece of skin that I own.” Once he looked up again, Crispin looked with so much love at him that Frederick did not know how he could have ever doubted the intentions of the art curator. He lunged forward and captured the other man’s mouth a searing kiss, licking into that special heat that he could never seem to get enough of. Pulling Crispin’s belt open during said kiss, Frederick felt a gentle hand stop his own. Looking questionably at the other man, he was met with a quiet smile he had become familiar with on other occasions. “I want to enjoy every second of this, Frederick.” A quick kiss, and then: “Come on, let’s move over to the bed …”

 

About an hour from then, Frederick was trashing on the white silk sheets that both men had spoiled solely with their sweat – well, up to then. Of course Crispin had asked the hotel staff to change the linen covers with silk ones as they were the only ones that Frederick felt comfortable in these days. The others were too rough on his skin. “Oh – OH GOD …” Frederick exclaimed, reaching a hand out to draw Crispin even closer to and into his body by his truly spectacular ass. There really was no other way of putting that. And he had had time to contemplate. Most of the previous hour had been spent making out and familiarizing with the respective other man’s body. Frederick could have cried about how gentle and loving Crispin had been, tracing each and every scar of his first with his fingers before he let his lips follow. Probably the only reason why Frederick’s good eye had remained dry was because he had been way to busy staring at the younger man and his lithe yet still muscular body. All the paintings he had seen that day could go and hide in shame compared to this work of art. At first, the former psychiatrist had almost been hesitant to let his own hands wander, but Crispin had taken his hand, placed it on his torso and had whispered “Please Frederick, touch me …” into his ear. Who was he to refuse a plea like that?

Frederick had only gasped once Crispin had entered him carefully and after a generous time of preparation. Things, however, did not remain that silent. As much as Frederick tried to stifle his groans, the other man just hit his spot in a rhythm that simply made it impossible to do so. And Crispin’s continuous, “Yes darling, don’t hold back. Do you know how good those sounds make me feel?” didn’t help in the slightest. Neither did the considerably quieter but highly lustful sighs of the blonde. Or the way his body moved above Frederick’s for that matter.

Once Frederick felt that familiar pressure building up in his lower regions, he placed a hand on Crispin’s sweaty side, “Cris-unhg! Ah … AH! I – I’m going to … come. Oh God … I …” Not knowing what would have come out of his mouth after that, Frederick was quite pleased that the rest of that stream of nothingness was cut short by a loud shout that signaled his release – prompted by Crispin’s hand that stroke his hard cock just in time with his thrusts. Frederick was only vaguely aware of how his whole body jerked upward as well as the broken sounds that followed the initial cry. Only once he had collapsed on the mattress and taken a few deep breaths, he managed to open an eye only in time, to witness Crispin’s face move into a slight frown before his body shook with the waves of his own orgasm as well. “Oh … Oh yes! Frederick … Hngh-ah!”

After that, the blonde collapsed on the man under him, taking his own set of heavy breaths. Frederick relished in the way the strong body of the other man pressed close to his own, how the ragged breath tickled his ear. The former psychiatrist ran a hand over Crispin’s muscular back whilst lazily kissing his neck.

A few minutes later, where Crispin had finally caught his breath and pulled out of Frederick reluctantly to get rid of his condom, Frederick sighed happily: “ And here I was, thinking that something like that would never happen to me again …”

Crispin turned back towards him, getting under the covers and ran a hand down Frederick’s temple, “I hope that it had been satisfactory …”

Frederick almost glared at the other man, who sported another grin, “Fishing for compliments, are we? I thought that I had been loud enough …”

Crispin chuckled, “I like how loud you are, Frederick.”

The addressed man smiled; he had not heard that particular thing very often in the past. The opposite, rather. “Well, good. Then I hope that I can be loud again soon …”

That blinding smile was directed towards him again, “I’d like that too.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> ... I promised you that I'd be nice to our Dr. Chilton, didn't I?


End file.
